Life Beyond The Graves
by JeSuisChele
Summary: OC Story. What would you do if your husband showed up half-dead on your doorstep almost a year after breaking your heart? OC/Grave Robber
1. Chapter 1

**Life Beyond The Graves**

***

Hello and thanks for clicking on my Fic, I hope you won't regret it.

This is my first attempt at a Repo! story, and it's also just a little something I came up with to entertain myself during a little writer block from my Watchmen story [On Friday Night, A Girl Died in New York]  
Thanks to Ficerella for the Beta Reading!

Read and Review,  
**.T T.**

***

She's making her way up the stairs to her apartment, the sound of her black high heels against the concrete stairs is ringing in her ears, not helping her forming migraine. She got off of a twelve hours shift at the GeneCo accounts archives, another day verifying the files on her white computer screen, making sure everything is in order and checking to see if people are paying for their organs, another day hating herself for doing this job and being part of this system she's been loathing for so long. She's missing her old job at the little bookstore where she used to work, but elven months ago, when she went from married to separated, when half the money of the rent left with her husband, she had to get a better paying job and much to her despair, GeneCo pays very well. She stops her climbing for a few moments, catching her breath and damning that stupid elevator for not working again, she looks through the window at this awful city that she has grown to hate. The grey buildings with their giant screens and their overflow of publicity: 'Get your new exotic skin transplant!', 'Affordable organ make-overs are just a simple finance away.', 'You want it? GeneCo's got it!' and beyond that, the overground part of the graveyard, the constant reminder of what will happen to those who don't use GeneCo's services or those who do and fail to pay back. _Like the smell wasn't already a reminder. _The window shows her something even more repulsive to her than the city, her own reflection; her short pink hair is gelled back, her black glasses are out of style, her eyes seems to have been pushed back in her head due to the endless work shifts and insomnia, her skin is even paler than usual and the dark circles around her eyes aren't helping. She looks sick, she feels sick too, sick of this life, of this world, of the fact she hasn't really slept for over ten months because she's unable to sleep alone in her bed and when sleep finally claims her it's only a matter of time before she has to get up to go back to a job she hates. Sometimes she wonders why she even bothers...

Taking her eyes away from her reflection, she looks up at the remaining flights of stairs, three more stories and she'll be home, three more stories before she'll enter her cold apartment where everything reminds her of him, three stories before she spends her night worrying for him and hating him, both at the same time. After a long sigh, the clicking of her heels fills the night again. _Only a few more steps and I'm... _Her thoughts are interrupted by an unexpected sight, there on the ground, by her door, what at first looks like a pile of clothes, too familiar clothes. She's still a few steps from her floor and too dumbfounded to actually move when the pile of clothes shifts a bit and addresses her.

"Hey Mack..."

The voice hits her like a dagger straight in the heart, it sounds so full of pain. Despite her senses, she can't stop herself from rushing to the side of the one person she's been hoping would stay away from her for the rest of her life. His left eye is so swollen it's almost totally closed, the rest of his face is covered in cuts and bruises and from what she can see from his torn open shirt, the rest of his body seems to be in the same state. Worried he might pass out right there, she pulls on him with all her strength wishing for a moment she wasn't so weak. After two unsuccessful attempts, she manages to pull him to his feet and put one of his arms around her shoulder. Trying to keep him stable with one hand, she feels around her pockets for her keys with the other, finally finding them, she unlocks the door and leads him inside. Without even thinking she makes her way to the bedroom and helps him down on the bed.

"What in the hell happened to you?"

She goes to turn on the light to get a better look at his injuries, not thinking that more light will make her see his face more clearly, she regrets turning them on as soon as she does. His face, the face of the only man she ever loved, the only man who ever broke her heart, is there, in their bed, staring back at her and all she wants to do is reach out and touch it. He looks at her, his mouth slightly opened, his breathing harsh as he winces in pain and after a too long moment, she finally snaps out of it.

"Try to stay conscious, I'll go get the first aid kit."

"No, don't... don't go..."

She was already halfway through the door when he manages to get those few words out, between winces of pain and hissing breaths. She turns around about to tell him he needs medical help now, that she should at least clean his wounds and check him for a concussion, but she doesn't because she can see he wants to say something more, even if talking seem to hurt more than anything.

"...shouldn't have come here... I know... but..."

"Shh. It's okay."

She steps out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, as she looks for the first aid kit, she tries to clean her thoughts. _He's just here because he's hurt, no other reason. Don't flatter yourself, he probably just knew you wouldn't say "No." He knows how pathetic you are. _This though in her head, she makes her way back into the room, he hasn't moved, still lying on his back like she left him, still wincing every time he breaths, it hurts more than she even admits to herself. She sits on the side of the bed and slowly, gently, starts to check his wounds, they're mostly cuts and bruises; it's slightly reassuring and he doesn't seems to have anything broken. After cleaning the cuts on his face, she realizes there's a lot of blood-coated hair on the right side of his face, looking closer, careful not to hurt him, she sees a longer, deeper cut starting from his roots. In all the years she has known him, never has he been in such an awful state, over the years, she has grown accustomed to taking care of all kinds of wounds that he seems to accumulate. She would often tease him that he had a rotten luck, and he'd smile and answer that his luck was perfect since he was lucky enough to have her, but that was then, tonight, he doesn't really talk, he inhales sharply when she's hurting him but otherwise he stays silent, his opened eye never leaving her face.

"There. That should do it. Now I recommend you to sleep and I want you out by the time I'm back from work tomorrow."

She gets up, but he grabs her wrist, even after such a beating, he's still stronger than her. She stares at him for a moment, half tempted to sit back next to him, half wanting to take her arm away from her and run into the bathroom and away from him.

"Stay... it's your bed after all... It's not like we never slept together and you... you know the couch ain't comfortable."

She can't believe him, he's flirting with her, even after all that happened between them, he has the nerves to flirt with her... and her stomach as the nerves to fill itself with tiny butterflies... She knows it's a bad idea, but she silences the voice in her head quite fast and nods. She moves to her drawers and pulls out pyjamas, she doesn't remember the last time she slept in one, more used to sleeping in her panties, but not tonight, he won't have that satisfaction. She goes to the bathroom and changes, refusing to do it in front of him. As she makes her way onto the bed and under the blankets, she hears him move, he's trying to get closer. Furious, she turns around and glares at him.

"Touch me and I swear whoever did that to you will look like a Saint compared to me!"

Somehow, her threats seem to make the desired effect and he moves back to his side. She expects it to be a long sleepless night again, and she'll probably hate herself even more in the morning when she'll realize she hasn't slept yet again, but for some reasons beyond her, sleep claims her almost as soon as her head touches the pillow. Before drifting off into the land of dreams that she hasn't visited in so long, she listens to his harsh breathing, feels his warmth next to her and hears him whisper: "Good Night, Mack."

***

Author's Note:  
Who do you think the husband is? Should I continue this story? Do you think Mack's threats will be put to actions?  
Reviews feed the writer! ;)

**.T T.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Life Beyond The Graves**

***

Hello and thanks for clicking on my Fic, I hope you won't regret it.

This is my first attempt at a Repo! story, and it's also just a little something I came up with to entertain myself during a little writer block from my Watchmen story [On Friday Night, A Girl Died in New York]  
Thanks to Ficerella for the Beta Reading!

Read and Review,  
**.T T. **

***

The sun is trying to make its way through the always present clouds that give the depressing grey look to Crucifixus, when Mack stirs in her bed, her alarm clock didn't even have time to go off. She's so used to waking up at this early hour that she doesn't know why she even puts the alarm on anymore. As her mind clears from the remains of her nocturnal fantasies, a low, monotone sound attracts her attention reminding her of the events of the previous night. After turning off the alarm of her clock, she turns her attention to the man snoring at her side, she notices that his eye is less swollen than it was and seems to be turning into a black eye. Regardless of all the bruises and cuts, she can't get her eyes off him, as if she can't believe he's really there, she wants to reach out and touch him but knows very well where that might lead. Instead, she tries to catalogue him in her mind to see if anything changed since she threw him out. _Pale face, check. Thin lips, check. That adorable little dimple in his chin, check. His hair is longer of course after ten months but he does have fewer colors strips in it though. Still snoring, some things never change, I guess. _She chuckles to herself, as she pulls her eyes away from his face. Her mind tells her to be mad and not giggling like a schoolgirl but her heart isn't listening, it keeps beating so fast and hard against her ribcage, it almost hurts. Even after all he's been putting her through during the four years of their marriage and even before that, she can't bring herself to fully hate him. He represents too much, he represents the little sense left in this awful city.

She extracts herself from the bed even if she doesn't really want to, she wishes he'd wake up and tell her that the last months were all bad dreams, even if she knows they were not. The memories fill her mind and the images almost bring bile to her mouth, anger starts raising inside her again.

_Beautiful bastard, _she thinks as she grabs her clothes and heads for the bathroom. Jumping into the shower, she tries her very best to free her mind from all the good memories they had, trying to focus on all the times he hurt her, on all these times he'd promise to be there for her and instead, he'd be roaming through the graveyards or all the around the city with his scalpel sluts and other junkies friends. She needs to be mad at him, she has to, or else she might slip back and allow him to hurt her again.

_  
__Never again!  
_

She glues her pink hair back into a "GeneCo approved" fashion and walks out of the bathroom fully dressed; grey knee-high skirt with a matching blazer and a white blouse. In the mirror of the living room, a woman looks back and as usual snerks at her, in her mind she can almost hear her criticism: "Who do you think you're kidding? This isn't you, it will never be you... It's everything you hate." Mack knows that all too well, but sometimes you gotta ignore who you truly are in order to survive in this world.

Surviving. That's what she's been doing for almost a year, thanks to the current occupant of her bed. She glares at the bedroom door, as if she could melt it with her eyes and the man beyond it as well. Her anger securely back in place, she grabs a pen and a piece of paper and scrambles: "Be out of here before 5. Ask Mrs. Broadshaw to lock the door behind you. - Mackenzie." Sticking it to the fridge with a magnet, before grabbing her keys from the table and heading out. Usually she'd have breakfast before leaving for work, but today she feels like the sooner she'll be away from the apartment, the better. Locking the door behind her, she prays to whatever deity might be listening that the elevator will be working this morning and the grave robber in her bed will be out of her home - and her life - by the time she'll get back from work.

Work itself is as dull as usual, classifying folders after folders, files after files, and verifying the accuracy of the files. She had to report three persons who were late for their payments, one of them being a young, single mom of two, and she emptied her stomach into the trashcan next to her desk after doing so. The idea that two kids will loose their mother by her fault is almost unbearable, but that's nothing compared to her first week on the job when she had to send the Repo Men after a 6 years-old girl because her parents couldn't pay for her new lungs; since then everything has been put in a different perspective. She's still slightly nauseous as she sits on the subway, with the businessmen, scalpel sluts, prostitutes, middle-class mothers and Zydrate addicts, a complete kaleidoscope of people, vibrant with colors and scars. She wonders how many of them got sentenced to death today without even knowing it?

To her pleasure, the elevator has been repaired, and thought it will probably break down again soon it feels nice not to have to walk the 12 flight of stairs. Maybe the gods listened to her prayers today, who knows? She laughs a little at the thought as she pushes her key into the first of the three locks on the door. She pushes the door open, not expecting to hear sound coming from the living room.

"What the hell are you still doing here?!" She's boiling as she burst into the living room. Grave Robber is sitting on the couch, arms behind his head and feet on the coffee table, he turns his head lazily toward her, smirking. Mack feels like giving him an other black eye to complete his raccoon look.

"I felt like staying a little longer and enjoying my television. It's still my home too."

"What? Your home? May I remind you, that this apartment hasn't been "your home" for almost a year!" She's so furious she can feel her entire body shaking. How dare he do this to her? He's the one who showed up at her door last night and she was nice enough to take care of him when she could have left him there, or called the GeneCops on him. And this is how he repays her?!

"My name is on the lease, no?" He's smirking at her as he gets up and walks toward her. She'd love to wipe that superior smile off his face. He's standing right in front of her, arms crossed and still smiling, she mimics his posture, staring straight in his blue eyes.

"Actually, it's not. I had it taken off, since I've been the only one paying the rent for a year! Now get out of my apartment, Grave Robber."

Back when they were together, she would almost never call him by his street name, unless she was kidding, but tonight it's apparent she isn't. She can feel her skin prickling from being this close to him, somehow she wants to jump on him, pushing her tongue down his throat and throw him out the window at the same time. She manages to keep her instincts under control and as she looks into his eyes she can see realization taking a hold of him. He blinks, looking hurt for a second.

"You took my name off the lease? Why?" He says, his voice deeper than usual. He uncrosses his arms, loosing some of his cockiness in the process. It just infuriates her even more, that he doesn't even seem to get why she would remove his name.

"Why? Are you fucking serious?" She's laughing, but there's no joy in that laughter, only pain, disbelief and fury. "Maybe because you haven't been here in ten months? Maybe because you don't give a damn about me or this apartment, always too busy with your scalpel sluts junkies or your late nights in graveyards! Or, maybe, just maybe because you cheated on me, you fucking bastard! With HER of all people!"

That did it, she's screaming and crying, throwing her glasses on the coffee table to wipe away the angry tears with the back of her sleeve while he just stands there, arms by his sides. She tries to swallow the lump that formed in her throat, her entire body shaking. She's breathing loudly, trying to calm herself down. She raises her tears-filled eyes to look at him, seeing only his blurry frame without her glasses, she finds her voice again and whispers. "Don't you think I had enough reasons?"

He moves closer and wraps his arms around her, pining her arms to her side so she can't push him away. She tries to shrug him off at first, trying to break free from his embrace, but when he rests his head on hers, she allows herself to cry the tears she denied him eleven months ago when she discovered he had been sleeping around... again. Her body shakes as she sobs against his chest. He clenches his jaw and closes his eyes as tight as possible; he knows now how much he hurt her and it breaks his heart to see her cry. All the years they have been together, he had tried his best to keep her happy, but yet again, he had hurt her. He can't resist kissing the top of her pink head and it's against her hair that he mutters "I'm sorry Mack."

After what could have been a minute or a hour, they break apart. He grabs his coat and bag before heading for the door, his hand is on the doorknob when she calls behind him.

"Stay." She's looking at him, unsure of herself, pushing her tears-stained glasses back in place, her hair ruffled up. She secures her voice a little before adding. "For dinner at least."

His hand makes its way back to his pocket as he turns away from the door. He places his coat on the back of a chair, and he tilts his head toward her.

"Are you sure?"

She nods fast, her eyes closed in embarrassment, she was screaming at him earlier and now she's inviting him for dinner. How pathetic.

"Okay then."

She can almost hear the smile on his lips and it pushes her to open her eyes, hoping for his sake that he ain't smirking. He isn't, only a discreet smile spreads his thin lips. It makes her heart swell in her chest. That may be why she adds two words that make his heart skip a beat. "Thanks David."

***

Thanks you everyone who read the story, reviewed it, added it to their alerts and/or favorited it. :D

**Answers to reviews:  
-Ficerella:** What do you think now that you saw the movie? ;)

**-Forestwater:** I know I have long paragraphs and it's my writing style, I can't bring myself to cut in them. I hope you'll appreciate the story anyway.

**-IsabellaAlucard:** Thanks a lot for your review, it made me smile!

**-Atropa Belladonna:** Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner!! Here have some Zydrate as a prize for discovering "the husband"'s identity!

Remember, reviews feed the writer! ;)

Until next time,

**.T T.**


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